


Bone Tired, But Home

by Swindlefingers



Series: Ellara and Samson [4]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Secret Relationship, Sleepiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2015-04-02
Packaged: 2018-03-20 20:37:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3664131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swindlefingers/pseuds/Swindlefingers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Inquisitor's back, omg Samson is hella excited (but only on the inside cause he's always cool on the outside).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bone Tired, But Home

She must be bone tired, back from Whereverever. She hasn’t complained about him being in her room. Seems that she hasn’t even noticed him. 

Arms crossed, waiting, standing at the edge of the bed.

She’s peeling off layers of clothing; a belt, a sash, a jacket, an over shirt, an under shirt, each one falling on the ground with a “whump”. Rubbing her eyes, grouchily mumbling half words to herself, placing a pile of reports on her desk. Pulling off one boot. Feebly attempting to pull of the other, teetering on one foot and cursing. The only thing keeping her from collapsing into bed. Quietly whining when it doesn’t come off fast enough, spinning to make it towards her bed once it’s off.

A gasp and tumble, “Samson!”

Smirk.

She’s up off the ground before he can reach her, such a quick woman.

Even her kiss is tired, finding only half of his mouth.

Chuckle.

"Don’t laugh," her voice is creaky with sleep.

Still no chastising words about being seen, about not thinking through the risk of it. “ _Think it through, think it through_ ,” she’s implored on more than one occasion.

He enjoys a quick thought about a time when he can stride through the Great Hall, instead of scurry. Even better, just waking up in this room every morning like it’s as natural as breathing. Keeping her busy under the covers. Ordering people out of the room if they show up too early with reports and messages. They’d all learn to wait until after breakfast because of his bark.

He’s pulling her in, wanting to feel her move against him, wanting to feel the weight and shape of her against him, wanting another kiss, a better one. One to lock away as a memory when she leaves, for too long, again.

"No," protesting weakly, leaning away as he moves in, "I smell like horse and sweat. I’ve been wearing the same clothes for four days. I’m foul."

"Just one more," murmuring, catching those eyes he swears look through all of him, the layers, the lies, the mistakes, to the little center part that dares to think he’s worth just a small part of her attention.

"Just one," conceding, rubbing at her eyes again.

He’s trying making it count. Her arms wrap lazily around his neck, one hand sliding through his hair to cradle the back of his head, warm fingers along his scalp, sending shivers down his spine. A kiss so deep, his nose pressing into her cheek, releasing some of his anxiety to roll down her cheek as he exhales. Chapped lips, but warm, but here, but against his, for now. His hands feeling her muscles move along her back as she presses ever closer. Once so far, but not now.

His tongue sliding along her bottom lip, and a contented sound vibrating in her throat, her hand gripping his hair, opening her mouth, bidding him enter. Too much time apart, trying to find the rhythm again, that dance their mouths make, a clack of teeth, a sigh, a giggle, a connection. Finding it, tracing it over and over again until they have to breathe.

She’s pulling away, eyes still closed, chapped lips now red and swollen, catching her breath, letting a smile spread slowly across her mouth as her eyes crack half open to find his face. She swears those eyes look through all of the titles, the demands, the obligations, to the little center part that dares think she’s still a person, and a person who deserves a kindness.

Untangling her hand from his hair, looking down, watching his chest rise and fall, dipping her fingers over the neckline of his shirt, brushing by the dark hair on his chest, feeling the quick rhythm of his heart beat.

"You’re right, you do smell foul," sneering with a smile.

"I warned you," laughing quietly.

Bending down to sweep up her legs. Scowling, she pushes away his arm, “I can walk to my own bed, good ser.”

"Hopefully you’re better at that than getting your boots off."

Unlacing her britches and stepping out of them on her way to all the waiting pillows and blankets. Smalls off in seconds. Sitting on the edge of the bed, looking up at him.

"You want to stay," it’s not a question, just her reading the look on his face out loud.

He walked into this room earlier knowing he couldn’t. His brows raise slightly, too proud to say the “please” caught at the back his tongue.

Extending her hand, pulling him down, she’s sliding through the cool sheets, already on her belly, her face half buried in pillows by the time his boots and shirt are off.

Draping his arm across her back, watching her eyes flutter closed, feeling her ribs rise and fall under his hand.

"Night," kissing her shoulder a half a dozen times until the rhythm of her shallow, sleepy, sweet breaths lull him to sleep.


End file.
